


Please

by boyhowdy



Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:16:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyhowdy/pseuds/boyhowdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link is hurt and Navi does what she can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

It’s all mold and drip drip dripping stalactites in here. There’s mushrooms glowing soft and gold in the cracks in the stone. They smell like eggs that’ll never hatch. Her hylian smells like sweet red iron.

His right hand crawls along the wall and his breath jumps and cracks like fireworks. His left hand clings to his abdomen. He’ll be fine.

His feet drag like lead. Navi’s ahead of him the whole way there, fluttering ten feet in front in a rush just to wait in anxiety as he trudges toward her. He decides to stop to dump something out of his boot at some point.

“What, that wound is ‘nothing’ but you can’t live with a rock in your shoe?” she snaps at him faster than she anticipated. Her voice was shriller than she thought it’d be. He’s going to be fine. 

As he’s putting the boot back on his foot, she sees he’s worn a new hole in them.

“We’ll look for a cobbler when we get back,” she promises. “That’s your 3rd pair this year.” 

He seems too hazy to respond at all. She’d never expect a word from him, but he doesn’t even look up. He doesn’t take his hand away from his side, his hat pressed firmly against his ribs.

The stalactites drip drip drip and a drop lands on her right wing even as they flutter. Her wings are getting soggy. He gets his boot back on and huffs on toward the glowing mouth of the cave.

Navi settles herself down on his shoulder, folds two sets of legs. His eyes are hidden behind hair in desperate need of a wash. His skin is covered in the grime of his travels, cheeks peeling in the wake of yesterday’s sun. He pulls in breath after breath through his tightly clamped teeth.

His steps are slow. The haloed entrance of the cave pulls nearer at an agonizing pace. He’s just dragging himself, really. God, it would help so much if it wasn’t uphill.

His lungs are desperate.

“We’ll get you a new pair of boots this time instead of just getting them repaired,” she says. “And that pub we were staying at had just the best cakes. We can get a whole platter of them. No, better, we’ll just buy all of them. We’ll put them out of business.”

He snorts.

He winces.

“What’s that tea you like to make? With the rose hips? Didn’t that shop sell rose hips? We’ve still got cherry bark, I think.”

He manages to get to the cave’s entrance, sunlight swallowing them up like the sea. He manages to walk down the hill it’s dug into. He manages to get to a tree, where he slumps, trying to get his breathing right again.

“We’re so close,” she says. “Come on, we’ll make it back. Just keep going.”

He pushes himself just a little bit further, but only makes it past a few more trees before choosing a new one to hold him.

“Come on. Come on, it’s okay. It’s not much further.”

She flies out in front of him again, trying to prompt him onward.

“Come on, I can see the road from here. You can make it to the town. It’s okay.”

His eyes are closed and his head seems too heavy for his neck, leaning back into the sun as his body grows limp against the tree. His breaths are shallow and crackle in his throat. His hat, in the hand pressed against his ribs which she suspects is receiving all of his remaining strength, is tie dyed red and green.

Navi flits toward him and grabs the collar of his shirt. Hylians are giants and there’s no way she could make him budge. Her fingers are smaller than the pine needles stuck in his clothes. Still, she tugs. He doesn’t come.

“Come on, you can make it to town, and we’ll get you a potion.”

She glances at his belt, at the empty jars hanging on his hip. She flies down to them and examines them. If only there was just a drop left, even.

And there is.

They must’ve missed it in the dark of the cave. At the bottom of one of the bottles is a tiny little bit of bright red. She can’t move quick enough to get it off of his belt. The jars are heavy for her, but she can manage them. She flutters her wings as fast as she can while the jar weighs her down and drags her balance away from her.

“Here,” she says, huffing. “Here, there’s still a little left. Here.” 

She holds the bottle with all six of her limbs and tries to hold it steady in front of his face. One of his eyes cracks and looks at her. It takes him a moment, but he slowly starts to lift the hand not pressed against his side. He’s incredibly shaky.

His fingers brush the bottle, try to curl around it. She’s hesitant to let go, although her wings are getting tired. He holds the bottle in his hand and she can feel most of the weight transfer to him. However, she still holds on and guides it toward him, just incase he drops it.

He puts it to his lips, tilts back his head and waits for the tiny drop to hit his tongue. That’s not enough to help.

He drops the jar on the ground and they just leave it. The two drag on forward.

“Come on. It’s not much further,” she prompts. “I can see the road from here. It’s just a little further this way.”

The sun washes them in heat and his hair sticks to his forehead. His breathing only gets worse. His old boots stumble through the bright green grass, becoming less and less capable of carrying him.

As he’s going down a steep hill, he trips. Navi gasps and watches him tumble forward down the grassy slope. She tries to catch him, as though she could. He does a full summersault onto his back.

An awful noise tears itself from his lungs. His chest puffs up with air, his face frozen in a silent scream, and for a moment he can’t seem to figure out how to let it out. Tiny shaking gasps quiver into his lungs while he remembers how to exhale. When he does, it comes with a shrill cry.

Navi flies down to meet his face. She wants to say “are you okay?” but knows full well the answer. She can’t think of anything polite to say.

“Please don’t give up,” she says. “Please, we’re so close. Please.” 

He closes his eyes against the blinding sun and just shakes his head. He just shakes his head.

“Come on!,” she says. “Come on, this, you can’t just- Come on you’re an idiot but this isn’t the right kind of idiot. You’re the kind of moron who’s too stupid to give up, not one who gives up before it’s too late! Come on! Come on, please, please get up. Please. It’s not much farther!” 

His chest jitters with each of his shallow breaths.

“Please, I know you can make it. I know you can do it. Please. We’re almost to the road,” she pleads.

His eyes are scrunched up tight, his face red and peeling. There’s a new bruise forming on his left cheek to match the one on his right eye. In the sun, she can see far too much. She can see all the rips in his tunic, exposing the chainmail underneath, and she can see damage done to the chainmail, exposing his soft flesh beneath that.

His hand only limply rests over his hat against his ribs, no longer doing much to stop the blood. That’s the worst wound, but it’s not the only dangerous one. His arm is torn wide open from a bite. Two of his fingers only hang in their sockets from when his sword was ripped from his grip too roughly. She wishes she could carry him. She wishes she were larger.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’ll, I’ll go see if I can find someone.”

She doesn’t want to leave him. She’s worried he won’t be here when she gets back. She’s worried if she even takes her eyes off of him, he’ll be gone.

“The road is just up ahead. I’m sure there’s someone who can help. I’ll be back, okay? You stay here,” she says. “You be here when I get back, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She thinks she sees his head twitch like a nod. His lips curl up like a smile for a moment.

“Okay,” she says finally. She glances at him one last time before flying off.

She flies as fast as she can through the trees toward the road. There’s fresh wagon tracks in the dirt. She glances down both directions. She can’t see anyone, but she follows the tracks. She prays they’re still near by.

Her mind is blank and calm. The only thing she thinks of is the tracks.

Down the road quite a ways, she spots the source of the tracks. She flies toward the wagon quickly. She flies right up to the driver, a young woman who the faerie thankfully recognizes.

Oh, she’s so glad that she recognizes her. Her hair is long and redbrown. Her eyes are bright green. Her ears are pointed, but not that long. Her hands are calloused and tough.

“Excuse me!” Navi yells. 

The woman jumps a little, but quickly regains herself. She pulls on the reigns and stops her horse.

“Excuse me, but, please, can you help me?”

“O-oh!” she says. “Aren’t you the faerie who came in with that boy the other day?” 

Oh she’s so glad she knows her. Anyone else would’ve assumed she was tricking them into the forest. She was so scared that’d be the case.

“Yes! Yes, actually. He really needs help. Please, I left him over in a clearing down the road. He really needs help.”

Her eyes grow worried and she doesn’t even take a moment. “Oh. Oh! Of course. Lead me to him!” 

Navi breathes in a deep breath.

“Please, just come with me. He’s just down here!”

She nods and the next few minutes are spent turning the wagon around. She insists that she can’t leave the wagon. The faerie understands, though she needs her to hurry.

The whole time they turn it on the tight road, the woman tells her that it’s all going to be okay, that they’ll get there in time. It doesn’t take too long. It drags on forever, but it doesn’t take too long.

Once it’s turned, the horse is faster than walking anyway.

Navi sits on the edge of the drivers seat next to the woman, her wings too tired to keep fluttering right now.

“It’s just down the road,” she directs. 

They return to where the fairy exited the forest. She tells her she’ll still be able to see her wagon and that they aren’t that far off the road. She quickly brings her to the young man lying in the dirt.

Oh thank the Goddesses he’s still there.

The woman runs with her toward him, her boots digging into the grass.

“Link! Hey!” the faerie calls. “I found someone!”

The woman kneels down next to him. “Oh, dear,” she says. She checks him all over. His eyes are shut and he doesn’t respond. She listens near his mouth and thankfully, truly really thankfully, announces that he’s still breathing. His hat is still clenched in his fist.

She lifts him with ease and carries him in both of her arms like a doll. She brings him out of the forest, finally, and puts him in the back of her wagon with all the crates she says she was bringing into town.

“I have some emergency supplies,” she says. “I can try to bandage him up before he loses any more blood and then I’ll take him to Morgan. She’s an herbalist and a healer. She’ll fix him right up, and it’ll all be okay.”

Navi nods.

“You’re such a good friend to him,” she tells her.

Navi only blinks. She feels like this could’ve been prevented. She feels like this is her fault in the first place.

With him lying on the floor of the wagon, barely responsive but still breathing, she removes his harness and shield and belt. She places them carefully next to him. She removes his tunic and his armor and his underarmor. She exposes his bleeding flesh.

His chest rises and falls with such pain.

“You’re going to be okay,” she tells him, brushing his hair out of his face. His eyes are open slightly, Navi realizes. His hat is still in his hand as it lays at his side, almost completely red now. 

She bandages up his side nice and tight so that the bleeding will stop. She wraps up his arm as well. She checks him all over and covers any wound she can find. And boy, there’s a lot. God, how did she let him get this bad?

Navi can only watch. She could only watch as he got sliced into pieces and she can only watch as someone else fixes him.

Once he’s bandaged to her satisfaction, the woman climbs up to the driver seat.

“Just keep an eye on him,” she tells her. 

Navi nods.

The drive to town is short but it’s still far too long.

\---

The medicine woman that Malon brings Link to is named Morgan. She has a bed for him to lie in. There is a bright window next to it, but he cannot move to see anything out of it other than the sky. At least, not on his own.

On occasion, Morgan will prop him up so that he can drink. Or rather, so that she can pour something down his throat. She does that a lot. Or it feels like a lot. It feels like the only thing that happens outside of Pain Pain Pain Pain.

Every breath hurts. Every time she lifts his head, it hurts. When he has to swallow, it hurts. It hurts and he knows it does, but he isn’t there enough to really understand it. There’s a cloud hanging over it, muffling it, trying to hide it, like a veil. He can only feel its shadow, but it’s there. 

And sometimes that veil starts to fall, and he can feel it more clearly. There’s a cycle to it. A very specific cycle that he’s only foggily aware of. The veil starts to fall and its Pain Pain Pain all up the right side of his ribs and shattering through his left arm. It gets stronger and stronger, louder and louder. He can barely take a proper breath, just plucking tiny, crackling, little sips out of the air. He makes no proper noise, but his cheeks are soaked with tears he feels like he should be ashamed of. 

Then Morgan comes in again. She puts a tray on his bedside with a clatter. The moon is out this particular time, so there’s a candle there as well. Its red light is a beacon in the blue of night. Link looks over with bleary eyes.

“You can go right back to sleep after this,” she says. She sits him up, very gently. Though, there is no amount of gentleness that will make this easy. 

Link’s mouth is left open in a silent gasp through the whole process. His body doesn’t want to do this. His ribs are bandaged tightly so that they can’t move even a hair, so that part of his torso thankfully doesn’t bend. His arm, as well, is tied up tight with a stent. However, as she lifts him and adjusts the pillow behind him, its like he’s being run through with his own sword. He hates this. He hates this He hates this. It’s awful awful horrible hurts hurts hurts. 

But it’s over soon enough. 

“Here you are,” she says, handing him a cup of tea. He takes it in weak hands. Although, thankfully, they’re not as weak as before. Thankfully, he can hold it himself now. How many times has he seen the moon from this bed, now? Didn’t he just see it?

She stays while he drinks the tea, starts preparing a salve to put over some of his smaller wounds. Or, the wounds that aren’t broken bones. The bleeding ones. 

“This smells awful,” he thinks when more than half of the tea is gone. It does. It smells like someone tried to put perfume on a skunk. 

Suddenly, she stops what she’s doing and looks over at him on shock. 

“And here that little faerie said you barely ever talk,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Though, I suppose this is the first time I’m hearin’ you speak.” 

He stares at her. How can she hear his thoughts? He should try again. What a convenience that would be. Speaking is nothing but a mess that makes his heart jump on a good day. It’s such a task. If she could read his thoughts it would make it so much easier. 

“Wha’s in this?” he thinks.

“Hm, well. That’s my secret,” she says. “If you must know, though, it’s mostly lavender, valerian and nepeta. Among other things. Honey. Sugar. Bit of cannabis.” 

I don’t know what any of that is.

“You know what lavender is, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve tried to give it to pretty girls.”

How can she hear his thoughts? This is ridiculous. 

“You’re talking out loud, sweetheart,” she says with a grin. “Now, finish your tea up and we’ll do your bandages.” 

\---

It’s been 2 weeks

The human named Morgan keeps a small house with a spare room for those she cares for if they require it. She says she hasn’t had a use for it in some time. She has a beautiful garden, and her house is surrounded by lovely trees and just green green green. 

The woman they brought him to sent the faerie off to pick some herbs from her garden to keep her busy. She was a large woman with a harsh voice and she did her best to keep the faerie’s spirits as high as the situation allowed. That meant keeping her busy.

She collected them all together in a bundle as big as she was and tied them with twine. She hangs them above the kitchen sink to dry. She feels only half there, like there is glass between her and the rest of the world.

She silently stares at the herbs hanging in the morning light for who knows how long.

And then the woman comes to the kitchen and said, “He’s doin’ much better, miss. Needing much less of the painkillers. He’s even sittin’ up, now.”

The faerie barely responds. It hits her like a sea. She blinks and inside, her little heart does flips and her stomach drops. But when she speaks to attempt to show her undying, relentless gratitude to this woman for saving her very dear friend, all that comes out is “Of course he is!”

Thankfully she laughed a loud and boisterous laugh. “Come on, come on. I’m sure it’d do him good to see a familiar face,” she says, beckoning her to follow her as she turns to leave the kitchen. “And you said he didn’t like to speak before his injury, yeah?”

“It’s few and far between. A few weeks ago he told me about a girl he saw and asked me to introduce him to her,” she said. “That was the first and last time that month.” 

Morgan laughed just as loud as before.

“He doesn’t give fair warning either,” she says. “It always catches me off guard. I never expect it. It’ll be five in the morning and I’ll be asleep and he’ll decide that now is the time to be verbal for the first time in weeks.”

Morgan brings her to the door to the spare room she’s been letting him sleep in. 

“Well, he’ll never say anything to get you in trouble, I suppose,” she says, beaming. “A man who runs his mouth wouldn’t be much use in his line of work.”

“Well-”

But she was holding the door open and she didn’t want him to hear anything more of the conversation than he already probably had. The faerie clasped her hands to her mouth and fluttered on over to his bedside. 

The window is open and the light is pale yellow. He is propped up on pillows in only his trousers. His torso is clothed entirely in tightly wrapped bandages. The faerie looks at his face and he blinks once or twice before smiling weakly up at her.

“Oh, thank the Goddesses,” she says. 

He lifts up his hand for her to settle down on. She does so carefully. She knows she barely weighs anything at all to him, but she wants to be careful.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says softly. “Goddesses, if you get hurt like that again I swear I’ll- just- Auhgg!!” 

She runs her hands down her face. “We’re making sure you’ve got a better stock of potions next time!” she says. “I-If there’s a next time!”

He grins like a dog does when it’s nervous.

“Please don’t tell me there’s a next time...” she says, rubbing her hands down her antennae. “Come on, what the hell’s even in that cave that’s so important anyway?”

He looks up at the medicine woman who has come to his bedside.

“Come on, this nice lady fixes you all up and you’re just gonna go and throw it all away again- I, I mean...” she pleads. “I, well, we can talk about this later, I guess... I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I’d personally advise against puttin’ yourself in more danger any time soon,” she says, resting her hands on her hips. “Considerin’ the damage isn’t exactly gone. You’ve got about 4 more weeks if you want to even think about liftin’ that sword, there, let alone go swingin’ it.” 

He winces and shifts his eyes toward the open window.

“Two cracked ribs and a cracked radius, you got, I’ll remind you since I suppose the pain relievers must be foolin’ you,” she says. “I’d listen to your faerie, here. Don’t go wastin’ that body. You’re not gettin’ another one. And those potions you’ve been drinkin’ will only do so much.” 

He stares out the window at the tall grass and flowers. He swallows. He still looks so tired.

“But never mind all that!” the faerie says. “I’m just glad you’re awake.” 

The woman nods. “Yes. It’s amazing you pulled through and we’ll just be glad for that for now,” she says. “You feel like eatin’ anything?”

He turns to look at her with wide eyes and nods vigorously and even opens his mouth like he might say something. But he decides not to and clamps it shut.

Morgan laughs her loud laugh. “Alright then, I’ve got a pot of soup on the fire and a bowl with your name on it.” She beams at him and then turns to the faerie. “And you come get me if he needs anything. Don’t hesitate one bit,” she says before she leaves the room.

For a while they sit in silence.

“Please try to rest this time,” she says. 

He takes a deep breath like he’s about to sigh, but before he can pull all that air into his lungs, his face screws up and he groans.

“Okay.”

It takes her a second to process that noise. His voice is extremely hoarse. It usually is whenever he tries to use it, but it sounds like someone chopped it in half this time. It’s thin and sounds like an out of tune violin.

The faerie sighs. “Things will be okay,” she says. “I promise you can wait to heal up a bit.”

She isn’t sure she believes that and she can tell that he doesn’t at all.

“2 weeks,” he says, firmly.

That’s not enough time at all. It’s also too much time. They can’t afford this injury. She wish she could’ve prevented it. She hates herself for not being able to prevent it.

She fusses with her antennae. “Alright.”

She knows there’s not much time to spare with this. She knows he doesn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

His eyebrows scrunch up. He puts his comparatively huge knuckle under her tiny chin. His eyes are massive and blue. He stares at her for a moment before they dart back to the grass outside.

Morgan comes back into the room with a bowl of soup and a glass of water on a tray. The faerie moves off of his arm and onto the windowsill so that the tray can have her place. He looks at it like he’s never been so starved in all his life.

He’s been eating sparsely, when he can, when Morgan can get him to. Whenever he does, he seems starved. It just hurts too much to eat, she figured. He’s only doing it when he’s desperate. 

“I don’t get too many serious injuries like this,” she says. “It’s usually pretty quiet ‘round here. Don’t know when I last had a house guest for this long, but once you’re up to it, you can have all you want.” 

“Thank you so much,” Navi says. “Really, we can’t thank you enough. We’ll certainly do our best to repay you”

Link nods in agreement even as he shovels potatoes and thick broth into his mouth. He swallows and wipes off his mouth and looks at her, continuing to nod in agreement.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourselves with that now,” she says. “Just work on gettin’ your strength back.”

Link gestures toward Navi and then toward his satchel and harness hung at the foot of the bed. She retrieves it for him and starts digging through his very few belongings that aren’t weaponry.

Truly, when he was brought in along with his belongings the woman was terrified of the shear number of weapons being brought in with him. The sword alone was enough to shock her, and the addition of a bow seemed a bit too much, but as the pile of miscellaneous devices mounted she wondered if he was some kind of an assassin and if she should be helping him at all. They quickly explained that they weren’t ALL weapons, that the hookshot was for something else and some of the knives were for cutting things, like food, that the sword didn’t have the precision for.

He pulls out a small canvas sack and hands it to the woman. 

“O-oh my,” she says. “Oh my goodness.” 

She stares into the little bag with wide and gleaming eyes. Her words fall short on her tongue several times before she’s finally gives up on whatever she was trying to say.

“Bless both of you,” she says. “I’m not going to ask where it’s from.” 

Link laughs at that. Or almost does, before his sorely abused ribs cheat him out of it and he freezes up and loses his breath.

“Ah- oh, yeah, take it easy, alright? Broken ribs are some of the most unforgiving bastards you can find,” she says. 

He nods with wide eyes.

“Doubt I’m the one to be tellin’ you that, though. It’s pretty remarkable you’re able to move around as much as you are, here. You must be somethin’ real special,” she says. “Or some kind of idiot I haven’t encountered before.”

“Yes,” Navi says. “Both of those.”


End file.
